Spent the morning in a fog. Literally.
It's an occupational hazard when your road goes through the mountains. Like they told you when you were little, fog is a cloud that touches the ground. When the ground is way up high...
And in the dark it's especially fun.
I was lucky this time. Visibility never dropped below a hundred (or so) yards. I never really had to slow down. But it's still a little off-putting to sit in your vague white bubble, watching the taillights go by and dim out.
I was out of the fog by daybreak. That's when things really slowed down.
I've talked about stop-and-go traffic and how I stay sane dealing with it. But that's usually a city thing. Out in the country, if you have a traffic problem it's usually because of construction or accident; and you either slow down (but keep moving) or your stop altogether.
This, on the other hand, was honest-to-goodness move-half-a-mile-and-then-stop-again stuff.
My best guess was that I finally got tripped up by that rockslide from a few weeks back. The one that's closed I-40 between North Carolina and Tennessee for the foreseeable future. I-77 is one of the main detour routes for that mess. And the fact that most of the traffic went south on I-81 when I went north made me feel so intelligent...
A while later I felt even better. An electronic sign at the state line said “COFFEE BREAK AT WELCOME CENTER.” Always willing to consider free food (or even free coffee), I pulled in.
I almost couldn't park. The truck pull-through's were mostly full—of cars. Overflow from the “regular” spaces, apparently. Lots of people going to Grandmother's house, I guess.
But they were generous enough to leave a couple of spaces for us poor truckers. And the nice people in the tent had cookies! HOMEMADE cookies! Not exactly an orthodox Thanksgiving dinner, but a nice start.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
New things...
There's been a certain amount of franticness this week. Interspersed with endless delay. Of course.
As a result, I don't have a whole lot of time for typing up adventures just now. I've been home a couple of days, and I go out again this morning. I'll try to make it up to you next week.
Meanwhile, I'll mention one experience: Parallel parking.
Yeah, we do that too. And it's as much fun as it sounds. I learned the maneuver in driving school and never used it again. Until late last week.
The customer had a fairly small parking lot behind a fence. Just past that lot was a dead-end street. I suppose they plan to put a building there some day. But right now they use it to hold trailers they can't fit in beside their loading docks.
Which means a long line of trailers along one side of a fairly narrow "street." And the only open space was right in the middle of the line.
As I said, I learned the maneuver in driving school. More or less. With a much shorter truck.* And a trailer seven feet shorter. A flatbed. So you could see over the top of it. This was much more interesting.
But I did get it in there. And there may be room behind me for a yard tractor to get the trailer in back. It took me three tries to get my tractor out of the line without hitting the trailer in front. But I did get in in there.
Warm glow of pride...
-----
They wouldn't use a sleeper for that kind of teaching, now would they? It had a back window, too...
As a result, I don't have a whole lot of time for typing up adventures just now. I've been home a couple of days, and I go out again this morning. I'll try to make it up to you next week.
Meanwhile, I'll mention one experience: Parallel parking.
Yeah, we do that too. And it's as much fun as it sounds. I learned the maneuver in driving school and never used it again. Until late last week.
The customer had a fairly small parking lot behind a fence. Just past that lot was a dead-end street. I suppose they plan to put a building there some day. But right now they use it to hold trailers they can't fit in beside their loading docks.
Which means a long line of trailers along one side of a fairly narrow "street." And the only open space was right in the middle of the line.
As I said, I learned the maneuver in driving school. More or less. With a much shorter truck.* And a trailer seven feet shorter. A flatbed. So you could see over the top of it. This was much more interesting.
But I did get it in there. And there may be room behind me for a yard tractor to get the trailer in back. It took me three tries to get my tractor out of the line without hitting the trailer in front. But I did get in in there.
Warm glow of pride...
-----
They wouldn't use a sleeper for that kind of teaching, now would they? It had a back window, too...
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Mood piece
US23, through the Appalachians. Ohio, Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina.
Little pockets of cloud in the hollows, looking as if you could throw a net over them and keep them for your collection--until you get a bit closer and they thin out, almost vanishing as you come alongside. Layers of cloud sliding by the hills beside you, dimming the remnants of the fall color behind them like spun-sugar bridal veils. (How's that for a mixed metaphor?) And then you realize one of those veils is above you, just as you drive into it.
You chuckle a bit as you pass the signs that say LIMITED VISIBILITY WHEN LIT (they're not lit). You can see the signs. Barely.
You leave the fog behind quickly enough. Climb through it, actually. And at length the drizzling rain takes over. You notice the difference in the colors as a different bit of weather softens them. And you wish you were a painter.
Hope you don't mind all the travelogue stuff. I could dwell on the route I was ordered to take (through TWO fairly hefty business districts, expensive parked cars inches from the trailer's back corner as I wove through the not-quite-straight thru lanes).
Or the stoplight that changed at the perfect moment and left me riding the brakes (ABS jerking away) to a stop 16 feet into the intersection. (About a 2-second yellow it was. Good thing it wasn't a 4-way...)
Or the temperature gauge suddenly climbing into the red as I climbed one long steep slope. In the rain. In fifty-degree weather. With less than half my rated load. And then doing it again, a few miles later. (The fan never kicked in either time. Looks like this truck's going in the shop when I get back...)
But why dwell on all that when I have cloud-veiled slopes, and mountaintops, and gorges, and man-made valleys (blasted through the living rock to make a way for me) and--well, you get the idea. I'm just not in a mood to be in a mood. Not with all this to look at.
No deep thoughts. Not this time. So there.
Little pockets of cloud in the hollows, looking as if you could throw a net over them and keep them for your collection--until you get a bit closer and they thin out, almost vanishing as you come alongside. Layers of cloud sliding by the hills beside you, dimming the remnants of the fall color behind them like spun-sugar bridal veils. (How's that for a mixed metaphor?) And then you realize one of those veils is above you, just as you drive into it.
You chuckle a bit as you pass the signs that say LIMITED VISIBILITY WHEN LIT (they're not lit). You can see the signs. Barely.
You leave the fog behind quickly enough. Climb through it, actually. And at length the drizzling rain takes over. You notice the difference in the colors as a different bit of weather softens them. And you wish you were a painter.
Hope you don't mind all the travelogue stuff. I could dwell on the route I was ordered to take (through TWO fairly hefty business districts, expensive parked cars inches from the trailer's back corner as I wove through the not-quite-straight thru lanes).
Or the stoplight that changed at the perfect moment and left me riding the brakes (ABS jerking away) to a stop 16 feet into the intersection. (About a 2-second yellow it was. Good thing it wasn't a 4-way...)
Or the temperature gauge suddenly climbing into the red as I climbed one long steep slope. In the rain. In fifty-degree weather. With less than half my rated load. And then doing it again, a few miles later. (The fan never kicked in either time. Looks like this truck's going in the shop when I get back...)
But why dwell on all that when I have cloud-veiled slopes, and mountaintops, and gorges, and man-made valleys (blasted through the living rock to make a way for me) and--well, you get the idea. I'm just not in a mood to be in a mood. Not with all this to look at.
No deep thoughts. Not this time. So there.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Crash diet
I haven't had an Orange Crush in--what? Forty years?
Maybe. For some reason I lost my taste for the things long ago. But caffeine didn't seem like a good idea just now, and a change of pace did. So...
Hm. Not bad.
Freshly showered, sipping on a slightly different soda. I am calm and comfortable now.
Less so a few hours ago.
I'd just picked up what the customer said was about twenty-one tons of something or other,* and here I was at the nearest truck stop, weighing the truck. That's important. There are very particular rules about how much the rig can weigh, and how that weight is distributed. To be specific, the steer wheels (up front) can have no more than 12,000 pounds on them, and neither the drive wheels nor the trailer's tandem wheels may support more than 34,000. A little arithmetic will tell you the whole rig may only weight 80,000. To carry more, I'd need a special permit.
Gross weight isn't usually a problem--this set of rules has been in effect for quiet some time, and the shippers are used to working with it. Distributing that weight takes a bit more work and worry.
The trailer wheels are mounted so they can be slid back and forth. Just retract a set of big thick steel pins and move the tandems to where they'll be under enough weight to balance the load. If things get hairy, you can move the "fifth wheel" trailer hitch on the back of the truck in a similar fashion--not fun, but doable.
So you go to a truck stop and pull your rig onto a great big platform scale. (Most truck stops these days have a fairly elaborate one that weighs each set of wheels separately, so you can get all four weights at the same time.) You call the fuel desk and let them know you're there. They confirm they have your weights. You pull off the scale, park, go inside, and pay the nice lady (you didn't think this was free, did you?). She gives you a certified weight ticket.
You look at it and sigh in relief, then get back in your truck and go on down the road.
Or you cuss a little, go back out, spend a few minutes adjusting the wheel positions, and try again.
Either way, you usually get things arranged fairly well without spending TOO much time at it.
Then there's today.
The customer's twenty-one tons was acting more like twenty-three. The truck was within 250 pounds of the legal limit for gross weight. I'd never been quite that heavy before.
But wait. There's more.
The steers were a little light. The tandems were a little light. The drive wheels were a good six hundred pounds over. And you can't adjust the weight in tiny amounts**--if I got the drives legal then either the tandems or the drive wheels would be overweight.
Oh, and did I mention I hadn't fueled the truck yet? There's another 800-1000 pounds right there.
Well, obviously I wasn't going to fuel. With luck, I wouldn't run out before I got to the customer. With care and luck I could balance the weight enough to satisfy the DOT--they do occasionally cut us a little slack, I'm told; and by the time I passed a scale house I might have burned enough fuel to be legal. So I rearranged the wheels as best I could and weighed the truck again.
Everything looked good.
Everything looked very good.
Everything looked too good.
I had weight to spare on all three wheelsets. That was not possible.
So I looked at the gross weight. Apparently about a ton of my cargo had evaporated while I was sweating with the wheel positions. Or else the scale was wrong.
I weighed a third time, on the other scale (this was a big truck stop--they had two scales). It agreed with the new reality. I still can't fuel (the trailer is nose-heavy--I can't move any more weight off the drive wheels to make room for fuel), but at least I'm legal.
I'll take what I can get.
-----
*No, I won't tell you what. See here for reasons why.
**Those pins I mentions snap into matching holes. As a rough rule of thumb, each hole represents 250 lbs more (or less) weight on the tandems and 250 lbs less (or more) on the drive wheels.
Maybe. For some reason I lost my taste for the things long ago. But caffeine didn't seem like a good idea just now, and a change of pace did. So...
Hm. Not bad.
Freshly showered, sipping on a slightly different soda. I am calm and comfortable now.
Less so a few hours ago.
I'd just picked up what the customer said was about twenty-one tons of something or other,* and here I was at the nearest truck stop, weighing the truck. That's important. There are very particular rules about how much the rig can weigh, and how that weight is distributed. To be specific, the steer wheels (up front) can have no more than 12,000 pounds on them, and neither the drive wheels nor the trailer's tandem wheels may support more than 34,000. A little arithmetic will tell you the whole rig may only weight 80,000. To carry more, I'd need a special permit.
Gross weight isn't usually a problem--this set of rules has been in effect for quiet some time, and the shippers are used to working with it. Distributing that weight takes a bit more work and worry.
The trailer wheels are mounted so they can be slid back and forth. Just retract a set of big thick steel pins and move the tandems to where they'll be under enough weight to balance the load. If things get hairy, you can move the "fifth wheel" trailer hitch on the back of the truck in a similar fashion--not fun, but doable.
So you go to a truck stop and pull your rig onto a great big platform scale. (Most truck stops these days have a fairly elaborate one that weighs each set of wheels separately, so you can get all four weights at the same time.) You call the fuel desk and let them know you're there. They confirm they have your weights. You pull off the scale, park, go inside, and pay the nice lady (you didn't think this was free, did you?). She gives you a certified weight ticket.
You look at it and sigh in relief, then get back in your truck and go on down the road.
Or you cuss a little, go back out, spend a few minutes adjusting the wheel positions, and try again.
Either way, you usually get things arranged fairly well without spending TOO much time at it.
Then there's today.
The customer's twenty-one tons was acting more like twenty-three. The truck was within 250 pounds of the legal limit for gross weight. I'd never been quite that heavy before.
But wait. There's more.
The steers were a little light. The tandems were a little light. The drive wheels were a good six hundred pounds over. And you can't adjust the weight in tiny amounts**--if I got the drives legal then either the tandems or the drive wheels would be overweight.
Oh, and did I mention I hadn't fueled the truck yet? There's another 800-1000 pounds right there.
Well, obviously I wasn't going to fuel. With luck, I wouldn't run out before I got to the customer. With care and luck I could balance the weight enough to satisfy the DOT--they do occasionally cut us a little slack, I'm told; and by the time I passed a scale house I might have burned enough fuel to be legal. So I rearranged the wheels as best I could and weighed the truck again.
Everything looked good.
Everything looked very good.
Everything looked too good.
I had weight to spare on all three wheelsets. That was not possible.
So I looked at the gross weight. Apparently about a ton of my cargo had evaporated while I was sweating with the wheel positions. Or else the scale was wrong.
I weighed a third time, on the other scale (this was a big truck stop--they had two scales). It agreed with the new reality. I still can't fuel (the trailer is nose-heavy--I can't move any more weight off the drive wheels to make room for fuel), but at least I'm legal.
I'll take what I can get.
-----
*No, I won't tell you what. See here for reasons why.
**Those pins I mentions snap into matching holes. As a rough rule of thumb, each hole represents 250 lbs more (or less) weight on the tandems and 250 lbs less (or more) on the drive wheels.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Two scares
Quick one tonight, I think. I'm sleepy.
Today I tested the brakes. City traffic at 50 or so, and the line of cars ahead of me suddenly slowed to zero. I've never had to stand on the brakes before. I'm not sure I did this time either--nothing locked up, and the ABS didn't kick in--but I came close.
A surging wave of stuff rolled into the cab--all the books, forms, logbooks, snack food, etc., that clutter up the floorboard. Surprising how much of it there was.
I was about ten feet from the bumper in front of me when the line began to move again. I would have stopped before I touched it. I'm not quite sure by how much.
I started over fifty yards back. On dry pavement. Half loaded.
The boring stuff about following distance was suddenly new again.
I'm glad nobody was close behind me.
*****
Later on I found myself paying close attention to my steering. I was on a country two-lane, and the truck kept trying to dart for the shoulder. Which almost wasn't there. Each time it did, the cab tilted a tiny bit to the right.
After the second or third time I started to notice the dips in the road on the right side. Like shallow potholes, but no missing asphalt so they were gentle and smooth. As if the ground beneath the road had given way under the weight of all the passing vehicles.
Almost always on an embankment. I feel so safe.
They're talking about rebuilding the road system, saying it's starting to show its age. They're also talking about raising the max weight for semi's to 96,000 pounds. Add another axle and we'll be fine. The roads can take it. Honest.
Today I tested the brakes. City traffic at 50 or so, and the line of cars ahead of me suddenly slowed to zero. I've never had to stand on the brakes before. I'm not sure I did this time either--nothing locked up, and the ABS didn't kick in--but I came close.
A surging wave of stuff rolled into the cab--all the books, forms, logbooks, snack food, etc., that clutter up the floorboard. Surprising how much of it there was.
I was about ten feet from the bumper in front of me when the line began to move again. I would have stopped before I touched it. I'm not quite sure by how much.
I started over fifty yards back. On dry pavement. Half loaded.
The boring stuff about following distance was suddenly new again.
I'm glad nobody was close behind me.
*****
Later on I found myself paying close attention to my steering. I was on a country two-lane, and the truck kept trying to dart for the shoulder. Which almost wasn't there. Each time it did, the cab tilted a tiny bit to the right.
After the second or third time I started to notice the dips in the road on the right side. Like shallow potholes, but no missing asphalt so they were gentle and smooth. As if the ground beneath the road had given way under the weight of all the passing vehicles.
Almost always on an embankment. I feel so safe.
They're talking about rebuilding the road system, saying it's starting to show its age. They're also talking about raising the max weight for semi's to 96,000 pounds. Add another axle and we'll be fine. The roads can take it. Honest.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
I did make it home for Halloween, if you're interested (see previous post).
Between various and sundry chores, a trip into the mountains so my wife could see the colors I've been mooning about the last few weeks, and letting a doctor poke and prod me (my DOT medical certification was about to expire) I've been kind of busy. But I did get sorta caught up here, too. Enjoy.
Between various and sundry chores, a trip into the mountains so my wife could see the colors I've been mooning about the last few weeks, and letting a doctor poke and prod me (my DOT medical certification was about to expire) I've been kind of busy. But I did get sorta caught up here, too. Enjoy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
